First
by The Writer0214
Summary: The thought of making love to his sister had ceased to make him sick now. It was the thought of that duke making love to her that made him sick. For he, Peter Pevensie, High King of Narnia, realized for the first time, that he loved her.
1. The First Time He Realized

**First**

**Author's notes:** This is a series of one-shots about Peter and Susan. Yep, it's Pevencest. Be warned. Don't like, don't read. Please R&R!!! But no flames please. Rated M.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Narnia. C.S. Lewis, Walden Media, Warner Bros. and (formerly) Disney own. No copyright infringement intended.

**The First Time He Realized He Loved Her**

It had been two years since their coronation. Surrounding nations had heard about these new rulers. Emissaries and ambassadors started pouring in from all around. And when they had laid eyes on Queen Susan the Gentle, that's when the courtships and negotiations began. They were all attracted to her—these suitors. They presented solutions. Marriage proposals. Wedding plans. But Peter would have none of it. Suitor after suitor came, but Peter turned them all away. Lucy and Edmund could not understand. An alliance would be most welcome. Of course, only Peter understood. Or did he? He seemed confused. He did not know what was making him act the way he did. Susan was right. He was acting more like a jealous husband than a protective older brother. And then one night, it dawned on him. He was afraid to lose Susan. He loved her as more than a sister. He had fallen for her. He was sick to his stomach. The thought made him sick. But he felt good, too, he thought. Somehow, this was wrong and right at the same time.

"Sire," Blilenwaald, his secretary, said that night, "A young Telmarine is here to see Her Majesty the High Queen."

"Yes," Peter said, absently, "Let him dine here. Serve him."

"Sire," the Dwarf said, and bowed.

When he had exited, Peter walked to the far end of the room and grabbed a spear from the wall. He hurled it across the room with all his might. It hit a wooden shield hanging above the hearth with a loud _thwok!_

At supper, Peter could hardly eat. He also rarely talked that evening. His silence was deadly. Edmund now understood. Peter's silence meant a bad end for the young Telmarine duke. Yet the Telmarine sensed nothing. Or was he merely trying to ignore the signs Peter was giving? He finally spoke. About his "mission."

"I come to seek the hand of my Queen Susan."

"_Your_ queen?" Peter responded coldly.

"My sister is not for the taking, Sir Duke," Lucy said, sounding protective for the first time. But she sounded less harsh than Peter.

"I understand you have qualms about giving your sister in marriage—"

"My sister, good sir," Peter said, slowly, his voice icy cold, "is but a girl of fifteen. That is hardly a good age to be given in mar—" here, the duke cut him off.

"Who are you to say what age is appropriate for marriage? You are also but a lad and you have already drunk flask after flask of firewater? Yet you discourage your sister from marriage! You are full of contradictions, my King." He smiled.

"_I am not_ your king!" Peter roared.

"I promise, I shall take care of your—"

"You and what army?" Edmund joined in, sounding protective this evening, as well, but keeping his temper.

"You heard us. My sister Queen Lucy does not wish to marry our sister off. Neither do I," Peter said.

"Nor I," joined Edmund.

"Queen Susan is of age! Let her decide for hers—"

Here, Peter grabbed the spear he had flung at the shield earlier that evening. He had hidden it under the table while the servants were preparing the meal. It sounded once more with a _thwok_. The duke fell back. Peter had not wounded the man, but he was trapped, pinned to his chair by the spearhead stuck in the wood. He struggled but could not remove it. Peter stood and went over to the man. He stepped on his chest with his heavy boot.

"Touch my sister and you die," he said, with cold fury. He ordered the guards to take the duke down to the dungeon.

That evening, nobody could make Susan talk. She was in no mood to do so. Peter found her on her balcony. She was staring out at the sea.

"I'm sorry I upset you this evening," he began.

"And who gave you permission to enter my chamber?"

"Look! I'm sorry, alright?" Peter said, hotly, "I'm only doing my job as your brother!"

"Brother?" Susan said, testily, "Brother! You sounded more like jealous husband! Tell me this, Peter, tell me this. Why is it that every time I have a suitor from another land, you turn him down. Why can't you let me decide for myself? _Why?_"

"Because," but Peter could say no more, and his jaw dropped. His mouth, wide open.

_Because I love you. As more than a sister. I want you to love me as more than a brother. I want you to love me as you would a lover. Because I love you, Susan. I…love you._

"I appreciate what you're trying to do for me, Peter," Susan said, calmly now, "But please, stop acting like a jealous husband."

_I am a jealous husband_.

And Peter stormed off in a rage, out of Susan's chambers. That night, he could not sleep. He could only think of how much he loved her. How much he wanted her to love him back. He thought about the Telmarine in the dungeons bellow and what might happen if Susan was to marry that duke.

He couldn't bear the thought of it. He couldn't stand it. It made him sick to think of it. The thought of making love to his sister had ceased to make him sick now. It was the thought of that duke making love to her that made him sick.

For he, Peter Pevensie, High King of Narnia, realized for the first time that he loved her.


	2. The First Time She Knew He Loved Her

**The First Time He Told Her He Loved Her**

The Narnians were once more engaged in battle with their Calormene neighbors. As Peter lay on the divan in his tent, he thought of Susan.

He reminisced.

It was a Narnian summer. She was sixteen, he was seventeen. The days and nights were hot and humid and Susan decided to take a stroll on the beach to cool herself and Peter had asked if he could join her. The High Queen happily gave him a nod of consent. They waded in some shallow pools within some alcove. They swam. They walked on the sand hand in hand. Susan's wet clothes clung to her body, revealing her luscious form. Every curve was accentuated. Every mountain and every valley of her body was revealed. Peter gasped. But it was no longer lust as had been the case years ago. It was love. Love. A painful love he had suffered silently. Alone. Now, he thought, was a time to change everything. But his logical self—yes, he too, like Susan, was logical at times—protested at the thought. This wasn't right. They were brother and sister. It would ruin everything. It would be a scandal. Palace intrigue. What decent king would take his sister as a paramour? He would never hear the end of it.

But he held his ground. He wanted to her know. If he should tarnish his position and reputation in the name of love then so be it—he would. He could take it no longer. They walked in silence for what seemed to be an eternity. Susan shivered. He offered her his cloak and she accepted, wrapping it about her. Peter gulped. It was now or never. He had to tell her.

"Susan, I," he began, but he could not say it.

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"By all means! What is it about?"

"It's about…it's about your suitors."

Susan fell silent. She had not the slightest inkling where this conversation was headed. It scared her. She liked to think she knew where it was going. But she was unsure.

"What if you had a suitor who showed all the signs…him falling in love with you? But what if he said nothing. What if he was too scared to confess that he loved you? But you knew the signs. Would you think it flattering? Would you fall for him?"

"They say shyness is a sign that someone is smitten. Yes, I would blush. I would be flattered. As long as he loved me for love and not merely for political purposes."

It was Peter's turn to fall silent. He wasn't sure if Susan knew what he had meant. He told himself he would try again.

After a longer time of silence, Peter spoke up again.

"Susan, can you help me with something?"

"Anything," she answered.

"I have fallen for this maiden—this girl. But I don't know what to say. I don't know how to say it."

"Is this girl, this lady, is she a commoner?"

Peter chuckled. "No. You very well know there are no other humans in Narnia besides us. And no, she is a royal."

"Ah! A royal. Is she a Telmarine?"

"Not exactly."

"Don't tell me. She's a Calormene. Peter you know that—"

"Stop that! She is not a Calormene, she's not Telmarine either. Nor is she an Archenlander."

"If not, then…who is she? Did you discover another kingdom? Is she human?" Realization dawned on Susan. There weren't any other humans in Narnia. Could it be—? No! It couldn't! She refused to think it was. He was her brother. How dare he dishonor her like this?

"I'm talking about a queen," Peter said, responding to the question in Susan's eyes, "A queen in every right. She is smart, logical. She's my best friend. Although we've had differences and disagreements in the past. We've had fights. But we'd always patch things up. She's beautiful, too."

"Peter, I—"

"Let me finish."

Susan felt like her heart had just dropped down into her stomach.

"Susan, I…"

"Peter, don't."

Peter started feeling bolder now. He was ready. He just hoped Susan would be, too. He cupped her face, held it in his hands. He looked her straight in the eyes. His lips mere inches from hers. Almost brushing. He could feel Susan's heat. He saw her pale face redden. She was blushing.

"All these years, ever since we came to Narnia, I've tried to deny it. To hide it. To conceal it. But I can't any longer. Susan, I love you. I love you with all my heart and soul."

"Peter!" Susan said, wrench away from Peter's grasp. A hand landed painfully on his cheek.

"Susan, those suitors only want you for political purposes. I love you. They don't. None of your suitors know a thing or two about love. Why can't you see that I'm different? I love you, Susan! I _will_ protect you!"

He was now holding her possessively—protectively.

"Let me go, Peter! _Let…me…go!_" and so he did.

But as soon as he let her go, she fell onto the soft sand in a fainting swoon. Had it been too much for her to take? But now at least she knew. He felt as though he were ready to die. Ready to live this world knowing full well that she knew how much he loved her.


	3. The First Time He Knew She Loved Him

**The First Time She Realized She Loved Him Back**

War was on Narnia. At first, it was merely rumors. Enemies were gathering forces. Ettinsmoor to the North, Calormen to the South. As if things couldn't get any worse, Jadis' followers—those who had survived Peter's campaign—had regrouped and joined in the war against Narnia. The High King, at this time, was forlorn. Distraught. The safety of Narnia lay in his hands. Its leadership lay upon his shoulders. But how could he leave for war like this? If he died, he would never know Susan's answer. He did not want to leave without making certain of Susan's answer. If she loved him, it would be a joyous occasion. If she did not, although he would not be able to bear it for a time, he would be happy for her and still be there as a friend and brother. Or so he tried to convince himself. Every day, news of war drew closer and closer. The days of war were drawing nearer like a vast, advancing army. And every day, the High King grew more and more morose. It pained Queen Susan to see him so. Edmund surmised that Peter's moods had to do with the fast-approaching war. So did Lucy. They were only half right. Susan knew the reason for Peter's moods. And she wanted to give him what he wanted but she was confused. Torn. It was wrong. No brother ever loved his sister as one would a lover. It was sin. _And yet…and yet…_

One night, at dinner, Peter did not touch his food and Susan asked to be excused. She saw the pain in Peter's eyes. Her eyes welled up with tears at the sight of it. No words were needed to be said. It was as though their eyes had spoken to each other. _Their minds. Their souls. Their hearts._ What the lips could not utter, the heart did. What the mouth could not do, the soul did. Susan felt the strong pull—the knitting together of their souls. But she protested against it. She fled to the sanctuary of her bedchamber and threw herself face down on the bed and wept. She wept for Peter's sadness—his voiceless plea! _Those eyes! Aslan, how they burn!_ She wept for her heart. She was being torn apart. Did she love him? Did she not? If she did not, why these tears? For the first time in her life, Susan did not know what to do. No longer was she the logical Susan. The reasonable Susan. The thinking Susan. Her logic was making room for her feelings now. This was something new to her. It had never happened before—not with anyone. Then, she stood up, dried her tears, and held her head high. She wasn't one to let emotions win. She thought it better if reason triumphed over emotion. _Athena over Eros._ She would continue to deny her feelings, keep it locked deep inside. But to deny Peter this wish? Who knows but that he might perish in battle? Susan thought of it and shuddered. _I would never be able to tell him how I feel_, she told herself. She tried to push the thought away from her mind. This would not do. She decided to deny Peter this one request—that she love him back and let him know.

When Peter sensed this, he was resigned. He held his head high as a king should, mustered his courage, and strengthened his people. His face was set as granite. His jaws clenched. And off he rode with the Narnian army into the sunrise. A battle cry. A trumpet blast. The sound of hooves. In a moment, they were gone. Like leaves blown by the wind. And high upon the battlements, a queen watched her king with tears streaming down her alabaster cheeks. It was a sad parting.

For the first three weeks after Peter and the Narnian army had left for war, Susan fell into a deep, dark depression. Narnia's Radiant Southern Sun had been eclipsed, it seemed. Swallowed up by an unfathomable darkness. Some deemed it due to the war and the queen worrying about her brothers—the High King Peter leading the Narnian army, and King Edmund commanding the armadas of the Royal Navy, its white and black butterflies emblazoned on banners of burnt ochre. The Royal Navy was fairly new. It was, as yet, in its infancy. True, this worried the queen. But she feared more for Peter. She dreaded the day when a messenger would come, telling her of the Narnian army's demise. She could not bear the thought of it.

"Why, oh why, did I _not_ tell him sooner?" Susan said aloud, with a sigh, as she sat at her window, thinking of nothing but Peter.

"Tell him what, Sue?" Lucy said, interrupting.

"That I l—"

"That you what?" Lucy asked, curious.

"What's it to you, anyhow?" Susan replied, rather hotly, uncharacteristic of her gentle nature. Her moods had been affecting her, much like Peter's moods affected him. Lucy was about to back away when Susan called her in and asked her to sit with her. She pulled up a seat and went over to the window where Susan was. She noticed her sister in deep thought, her eyes and mind far away. A distant dream in her eyes.

"What is it, Susan?" Lucy asked, once more.

"It's about… It's about Peter…"

"What about him?"

"I miss him, Luce. Terribly. I wish I could…tell him…"

"How much he means to you?"

"Yes," Susan said, softly, turning to Lucy in surprise. _How in Aslan's name did she—?_

Reading the question in her eyes, Lucy said, "I'm fourteen, Sue. I know some of these things already. At least I'm beginning to."

"Then you'll know it's impossible for us to—"

"In England, maybe," Lucy said, "But not in Narnia. Who knows? 'Impossible' is a word I've learned _not_ to say in Narnia."

"I'm afraid, Luce. What if he never comes back?"

The next few weeks did not go smoothly. If anything, it was rougher on the High Queen. She could put neither Peter nor the thought that she had missed her chance from her mind. Neither could she stop thinking about all the what ifs. What if she had told him she loved him before he went to war? What if he died without knowing that she loved him back—as his lover and not merely his sister? She did everything she could to drive these thoughts away from her mind. She ordered the servants around at Cair Paravel, as she usually did, heard the people's petitions, settled disputes, practiced her archery, read poetry, talked with Lucy and Mr. Tumnus for hours on end, visited the Merpeople, asked Lucy to teach her how to use the dagger, asked for news of King Edmund's return. Once, when Edmund was home on furlough, she asked him to teach her how to handle the sword. This led him to ask.

"You know, Sue," he said, one day, after they were done training for the day, "When people act the way you're doing right now, it means either one of two things."

"What?"

"Either they're out of their bloomin' minds, or they're trying to forget."

"And which of the two do you think I am?"

"I think, with you, you're trying to forget."

"And who in Aslan's name am I trying to forget?" Susan said, scoffing.

"Don't play dumb with me, Susan. Don't think I have no bloody clue what's going on."

"I bet Lucy told you, didn't she? Why that little—"

"She was only concerned, Sue. So am I. The news I hear from faraway is troubling. With you depressed and the Narnian army greatly depleted—"

"D-depleted?" Susan said, in shock.

"I did not say _defeated_, Susan. I said depleted."

"Same difference!" Susan said, testily.

"The Narnian army is very much alive, Sue. Trust me. At least Peter's company. But we've lost many soldiers. Don't worry. Peter's alive. Would you like me to tell him you love him?"

Susan blanched then blushed in succession. "Edmund!"

"You love him." It was a statement, not a question. "I see. Then I see no reason why you should not convey it to him. It would certainly lighten your load."

"No, Ed! I beg you. Not at this time. I—I'm still very much confused."

"Sue, just try. Who knows what might happen? Nothing is impossible here in Narnia."

"So says Lucy."

"And she is right. Nothing is impossible here in Narnia."

"But—"

"But what? It's not acceptable?"

"Yes!"

"It's not normal? That it's dirty? Wrong? Immoral?"

"Yes, Edmund! Yes, yes, and yes!"

"Do you see any other man besides Peter—in Narnia?"

"There are many from surrounding kingdoms."

"All of whom you have turned down gently, time and again," Edmund observed astutely, his voice carrying with it a hint of reproach. A rebuke to Susan.

"_Peter_ was the one who turned them down! Not I!" Susan fired back, not wanting to give ground.

"Peter turned down only a few. You've turned down a lot of them. More than he has."

"He was being protective of me!"

"Come, come. You know the real answer to that, Sister. Stop deluding yourself."

"I am _not_ deluding myself!" But she was. Susan was, indeed, deluding herself into thinking that Peter was just being protective. But she knew, as did everyone at Cair Paravel, the real reason.

"He loves you, Susan."

"It's _the_ _wrong_ kind of love, Ed!" Susan said, trying to fight it.

"How are you to know if it's the right or wrong kind of love if you never try?"

"I _am not_ doing this, Edmund! I—I can't." Susan was struggling, as she always had.

"Alright. Suit yourself."

"Go to your chambers, Ed. Rest. The heat is frying your brain."

Edmund walked off with a loud laugh and winked a knowing wink at Lucy when he met her.

Three months. Three months of agony and waiting. There was no word from the High King or the Narnian army. No word from the Archenland army. Nothing. Three months had gone by. Every day, during those three months, the High Queen either sat at her window or stood on the balcony, waiting for the Narnian army. _For her High King. Her lover. Husband of her heart_.

"No," she thought aloud, "I must not think such things."

"What things, Majesty?" came a female voice. Susan was startled, seeing no one (or rather looking in the wrong direction). She was also angered. _How dare she—whoever or whatever she is—enter my presence without permission or introduction?_ She had not heard the announcement. It was Mrs. Beaver. She had a change of heart when she saw her old friend.

"You miss 'im, don't you, Majesty?" Mrs. Beaver continued.

"Yes," came Susan's distant-sounding reply.

"I miss 'im too, at times, dearie." Susan was confused at this.

"You…you miss Peter?"

"No, of course not. Well, of course, as a king and an old friend, I do fear for his safety. And miss him sorely. I was talkin' 'bout poor Beaver, though."

Ah, yes… Mr. Beaver. That would make sense. He was at war too. In this, Susan found a companion.

"I…I haven't heard from him…in three months," Susan said, half to herself, half to Mrs. Beaver, "I'm afraid, Mrs. Beaver."

"I know 'ow that is, Majesty. It was a sad day when he left with the Narnian army. I 'ad to keep our dam in order while he was away."

"But…at least you had the chance to tell him you love him?" Susan said.

"Of course, Majesty."

"Please, Mrs. Beaver. I'd appreciate it if you called me 'dear' right now."

"'Aven't you told 'im you love 'im?"

"No, Mrs. Beaver. I haven't. And I'm afraid I may never get the chance again."

"But why didn't you tell 'im?"

"Because I was afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Afraid that our love might not be permitted."

"Not permitted," Mrs. Beaver thought, not understanding, "But why not?"

"Because…we're brother and sister."

"And that would be wrong because?"

"Oh, Mrs. Beaver! Don't you see?" Susan cried, in an agonized wail, "A brother is not meant to love his sister _outside_ the bounds of family. It is a crime to be your brother's lover."

"Child, child," Mrs. Beaver said, comfortingly, "Perhaps in your world, it is. You are in Narnia now…"

But Susan did not have time to mull over Mrs. Beaver's words. For far below on the road leading up to the Cair, there were shouts of victory and rejoicing. Mrs. Beaver was in a frenzied excitement. Everyone in the villages had come out to meet and hail the returning army. There was the sound of drums and tambourines and flutes and pipes and harps. Susan looked out from the balcony, and saw at once, Peter's company ahead of the others. Her heart began to flutter as though it had wings, then she felt it float, then finally soar. High above the heights of Cair Paravel. Oh, what light feeling! Her High King had returned, and Susan wanted nothing better than to run to him and embrace and kiss him with all the love she had for him—to tell him she loved him. She told herself it was the first thing she would do the instant Peter burst through the gates. She now had a second chance at last. But it was not all a happy ending. Everyone looked on in horror as an army of Telmarine knights and soldiers swarmed out of their hiding places and fell upon the Narnian army like a swarm of locusts intent on nothing but devouring the harvest that they had not sown. Like an angry wave engulfing a ship at sea, pounding her furiously on all sides until the she is ripped asunder or until she sink. Time slowed for Susan as she watched a Telmarine slice through Peter's belly. There was chink in his armor. It felt as loud as thunder in Susan's ears as Peter screamed in agonizing pain. Everything grew dark to her. She suddenly felt a chill run down her spine. She frantically searched for her bow and arrows in the armory. She ran at top speed, cursing herself for her cowardice. She _should have been_ in the battle—_should have been_ able to save him. In her fury, Susan killed forty-seven Telmarines. She would have killed more had they not beaten a hasty retreat. _Curse Edmund and his fleet!_ she thought, _Now they come? At the last minute?_ On the horizon was a fleet of twelve ships. Seven of them bore the Narnian Lion on their standards. Five bore the Narnian Butterfly—three black ones and two white ones. Susan cursed Edmund and the fleet's slowness.

All such thoughts vanished, however, when she saw Peter on the ground, profusely sweating, his breath coming out in short gasps of breath. Someone shouted that he was still alive and called for Lucy. Susan stopped her, however.

"No. Don't. Not this time, Lucy," she said, leaning in to kiss Peter, "Peter, wake up… I … I love you."

She kissed him deeply, and after pulling away from him, Peter reached up and cupped her face.

"Susan—"

"Hush," Susan said, "I'm here. I'm here. I…_love you_." Then she ordered that Peter be taken to the infirmary at Cair Paravel and his wounds dressed. She forbade any use of Lucy's cordial. She swore to nurse him back to health herself without Lucy's aid even though it would be a long recovery. She felt it her duty. A _duty to her king. Her brother. Her lover. Her Peter. The husband of her heart._ For she, Susan Pevensie, High Queen of Narnia realized for the first time that she loved him.


	4. The First Time They Made Love

**First Time**

**(Or **_**The First Time They Made Love**_**)**

It was a nice spring day in Narnia. The air was cool, not cold, and the sun warmed everything in its path. A month had passed since the skirmish with the Giants, the Calormenes, and the White Witch's forces. A month since the High King received that almost-fatal blow. His sister the High Queen forbade any use of Queen Lucy's cordial. She would nurse the High King back to health. And sure enough, with her help, King Peter had rallied and was on his way to a full recovery. He was now regaining his lost strength. He was able to walk the grounds of the Cair now. He would walk the gardens for an hour or two each day. But the rest of the day was dedicated to either reading or bed rest. The task of hearing their subjects' petitions and ruling the people fell on the shoulders of the young King Edmund and their sister the High Queen herself. Inaction irked Peter. He wished to be on his throne listening to people's petitions, judging, making decisions, consulting Edmund regarding the Law, meting out sentences… Most of all, he missed sparring with either Edmund or Orieus. He missed riding and hunting with his siblings or with his men. Susan had forbidden such activities. She was worried that he would tire himself out and relapse.

Peter decided he would have none of it. Enough was enough. He could understand Susan being worried about him but it was becoming ridiculous. He was not a child. He could take care of himself. He got out of bed and walked the halls of Cair Paravel, looking for Lucy. He needed that cordial. He would not wait any longer for that wound to heal. It was almost healed now, thanks to Susan's care. But he was getting impatient. He needed to close that wound fast. And so he sought Lucy.

He searched the Cair for his sister but could not find her. His wound was smarting again. Perhaps it was due to all the walking. If that were so, he thought, better to end it and get it over with soon. After exhausting almost all his options, he had one room left to search. Edmund's room. Of late, the two younger Pevensies have been growing closer and closer. They were becoming the best of friends. They no longer bickered as they always did. And if they did bicker, they would make up. Peter knew Lucy would be in Edmund's room—either chatting with him, reading with him, or playing chess with him. But what was this? Lucy and Edmund were doing none of the things Peter had thought they would be doing! There Edmund was, on a divan, Lucy's head on his lap. He was stroking her brown locks of hair, running his fingers through them. He was gentle with her. As though she were a porcelain doll. Delicate. Meant to be kept safe, not shattered to pieces. Suddenly, from the divan, Edmund slid to the floor and sat with Lucy. His arms went around her body, and Lucy immediately did the same thing. He lowered his head to kiss her neck, his fingers working on the laces of Lucy's dress. With skill, Edmund had loosened Lucy's dress in a matter of seconds. Her shoulders were now bare, her breasts half-exposed.

Peter held his breath. What in Aslan's name was going on here? He was shocked and was about to scold the two younger Pevensies but thought better of the scene. He realized he was being hypocritical. He and Susan were doing the same things that he had just witnessed his two younger siblings were doing. Only he and Susan had never gotten to that moment. They have had no time to consummate their love. Susan had insisted on holding off until Peter was completely healed. His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds Edmund and Lucy were making. He turned to see Edmund, head bowed, face buried between Lucy's exposed breasts. Lucy was holding him close, clutching him tightly, clinging. She ran her fingers through her hair and moaned his name.

"Edmund!" She was breathing heavily, her head thrown back.

Peter saw this as an opportunity, so instead of looking on, he slowly backed away and made a dash for the armory where they kept all of their gifts. He closed the door shut behind him and leaned against it, panting. He was sweating and his wound was smarting yet again. He could feel it pulsating. But the gash was not the only thing that was pulsating. Looking down, he saw his hard, erect member outlined against the fabric of his leggings. He closed his eyes and reenacted in his mind's eye what he had just seen. But in his imaginings, it was not Edmund and Lucy. It was him and Susan. Susan with her head thrown back. Him with his head bowed, his face buried in her exposed breasts.

_Peter!_ he could hear her now. What he had witnessed served to make him realize how much he wanted to consummate his love for Susan.

The vision suddenly ended and he was brought back to reality. There was something he was supposed to do. Quickly, he searched for Lucy's cordial. Finding it, he opened it and took a drop. His wound stopped smarting at that very instant. He looked at his side where the wound had been, and sure enough, it was not there anymore. Gone. With renewed strength, he donned his sword, ran out of the armory, and called for a stable boy to ready his horse for him. He rode out of Cair Paravel and into the woods, excited at the thought of being able to ride and hunt again. Freedom! Besides, he wanted to find Susan. He knew she would be out hunting today. She usually went alone, turning down her guards' offers of going with her. They would have some privacy.

He halted his horse and jumped off. Seeing a stream, he walked over to its bank and stooped. He drank. He was overjoyed to taste fresh water once again. Had it really been only a month? It seemed like ages to him. Suddenly, he heard the sound of a bow being fitted. He raised his hands as if in surrender and said, "Susan, it's only me, Peter."

"God, Peter! What were you thinking? I could've _killed_ you! What are you doing out here?" Susan said, lowering her bow and arrow. She was seething. If she weren't in love with Peter, she would've shot him by now. She swore he was irritating sometimes.

"What…are you doing…out here?" Susan said, slowly repeating the question.

"I'm tired of being cooped up all day, Sue. I wanted to ride badly."

"Cooped up?" Susan said, an eyebrow rising, "Cooped up… For _Aslan's sake, Peter!_ The Cair is big enough! Aren't you allowed to walk in the gardens?"

"I'm fine, Susan! Alright? I'm…fine. I am not a child to be taken care of! No need to keep locked up in Cair Paravel."

"Why you ungrateful—"

"You think you're so smart, don't you? To cover your guilty feeling, you fuss over me, to atone for what you did? For turning me down? Well, let me tell you something, Susan. What you're doing right now doesn't cut it!"

Susan raised a hand to slap Peter. _How dare he?_ Wasn't she already sorry enough? Hadn't she apologized? Hadn't she returned his love? And now he was treating her like this? But Peter stopped Susan and caught her wrist in his hand. He held the other and kissed her deeply. Susan struggled at first, but she slowly gave in. Slowly. Slowly. Peter licked her lips and her last defenses fell. She parted her lips for him, allowing his tongue access to hers. They kissed passionately, tongues dancing, hands touching, arms snaking around each other's bodies… Peter pulled her closer and Susan gasped as she felt Peter's member against her stomach.

"Peter," she whispered into his mouth as they broke the kiss, "Peter." She was breathless. That almost caused Peter to come undone. He undressed, removing his tunic, belt, boots, and leggings. Susan took the cue and undressed, fumbling with the laces on her dress. It finally came off, leaving her in only her petticoat. This, Peter undid, delicately loosening her bodice. Before long, they were standing naked in front of each other, breathing heavily, Peter's manhood throbbing with excitement. Susan stepped closer to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Putting her mouth close to his ear, she whispered, "Peter... Make... Make love to me."

Peter kissed her deeply, almost bruising her mouth. She carried her over to where a nearby tree was and pinned her against it. Susan wrapped her legs around Peter's waist and kissed him back fervently, hungrily. Her hands roamed all over his body. His arms, his back, his beautiful dark brown locks… Peter dipped his head and licked the area between Susan's breasts, licking all the way up to her neck, her jaw line, her ear… He repeated the process and Susan shivered each time. She struggled against him as if wanting to dominate him. Peter granted her this silent request and re-positioned himself, his back against the tree, his arms supporting Susan. She cried out at the moment of contact.

"Peter!" she moaned.

Peter moaned along with her and kissed her neck, sucking hard on it. He licked it and Susan cried out once more. Peter made his way up her neck, her jaw, then her lips. He stifled every moan with his mouth. Even then, Susan could not help but moan. She moaned in his mouth. They broke the kiss, breathing heavily. Moving from the tree, Peter lay Susan down on a patch of moss and took her, made love to her. Susan screamed as Peter took her maidenhead, as her hymen broke. Tears streamed down her cheeks and Peter silenced her with kisses. But she would not be silenced. The pain was replaced with pleasure. The agony replaced with joy. She was no longer moaning in agony. It was pure pleasure. Peter moved in and out of her. She moaned, her hands roaming up and down his back. A thin film of sweat was already forming on Peter's body. Very soon, Susan would follow suit and begin to sweat. They were making each other feel hot. Susan dug her nails into Peter's shoulders, digging deeper with each thrust from Peter.

"Peter!" she moaned, "Faster! Harder!"

Peter did as he was told and thrust faster, harder. He went in deeper, filling her completely.

"God! Peter!"

"Susan!"

Susan ran her nails up and down along Peter's back, clawing, scratching until his back was red from her nail marks.

"Peter!" she moaned again, feeling closer to her climax. Peter, too, was coming closer to the edge. He had just touched heaven and Susan was with him. He had reached paradise.

"Oh, God! Oh! Peter!"

"S-Susan!"

"Peter!"

Susan bucked her hips against his and threw her head back. Her legs tightened around his waist, bringing him deeper. With a loud moan, she came undone, her legs quivering, her hips bucking. Peter came with her, their juices mixing, meeting. His hot, milky, white seed spilling into her, swimming inside her. It felt so good. Susan shared the same sentiment. It felt good. Her liquids spilled out of her and onto the forest floor. She quivered again, moaning, breathing heavily.

"Peter," she whispered, "I love you, Peter."

"I love you," Peter whispered back.

And there, the Dryads and the woodland creatures were witnesses to the day the High King first made love to his Queen.


	5. The First Fruit of Their Union

**The First Fruit of Their Union**

**(Or "Drusilla")**

"A glorious morning, Sire!" Blilenwaald greeted, bowing so low his beard and nose almost touching the floor.

"May Aslan smile on your day, Blilenwaald," Peter said, returning the dwarf's greeting. After a pause, he inquired of his siblings.

"My sister Queen Lucy—where is she today?"

The dwarf could merely stammer an incoherent reply.

"Speak!" Peter commanded.

"Her Royal Majesty is still…abed, Sire."

"Abed," Peter said, "At this hour?"

"Not…exactly abed…" the dwarf said, hesitating.

"What do you mean by that?

"Come with me, Sire."

The High King followed; his royal secretary, assistant, and confidant leading the way. They turned a corner—a familiar corner.

"I thought we were on our way to see the Queen Lucy. This is King Edmund's Wing. This is my brother's part of the castle," Peter said, stopping. The dwarf pretended not to hear. As they approached Edmund's chambers, they heard sounds. Familiar sounds—sounds Peter had heard from Susan. Sounds he had been making every night since the night he and Susan came together. He felt sick. He felt hypocritical and yet he could not wrap his mind around the fact that Lucy and Edmund were doing the same things he and Susan were doing. He had yet to get used to the idea. Was it because he was protective of Lucy since she was the youngest? _Perhaps_, he thought. But Lucy was safe with Edmund, he knew. He would not break her heart. But still he couldn't come to terms with what was going on with Lucy and Edmund. He felt like a parent whose daughter was being courted for the first time. He called for the servants, but for some reason, the servants were slow today. He could not wait for the servants. And so, impatiently, he broke Edmund's door down himself and dragged Edmund out of bed. Lucy covered her young, exposed breasts with Edmund's sheets.

"Get dressed—right this minute! You have a responsibility to our people and what do you do? _You fuck!_ You little pervert!" Peter was furious. Lucy was crying. Edmund was equally furious. He made a move to strike, wanting to punch Peter badly.

"You're my brother and I love you!" Edmund said hotly, "But if you ever do anything to come between me and Lucy, I swear to the wood nymphs that _I shall rip your pretty face from your pretty skull!_"

"_Peter! Edmund!_" a voice came from the doorway—Susan. "_Stop that!_ Stop this insanity—immediately!" Both boys dropped their fists. Peter sighed.

Suddenly, Susan gasped, covered her mouth with her hand, and made a sound like that of someone about to vomit. Peter turned to her, concern written all over his features.

"Susan… Are—are you alright?"

She shook her head, her hand still on her mouth. Suddenly she ran. She ran and ran, not having the faintest idea where she was going—no sense of direction. All she knew was that she was about to hurl. She stopped at the latrines, barred the door so nobody could come in, and retched.

No sense of time, Susan had recollection of how long she had been there. All she could remember was the horrible feeling she had all morning long. How she retched!

"Susan? Susan!" Peter called, knocking on the door of the latrines, "Are you alright? Susan!"

Edmund, forgetting his fight with Peter, was concerned. "Did someone poison her?"

"A possibility," Peter said, "Call in the royal baker and cupbearer!"

"That is _not_ necessary!" Susan shouted from within, "_Nobody_ poisoned me! I'm just…_sick!_"

"Did you eat something that didn't agree with your stomach?" Edmund asked.

"No," Susan replied, "None that I can think of. I _haven't_ even had breakfast yet."

Suddenly, Peter had an idea—a sudden burst of inspiration. "Excuse me," he said, taking his leave, "Blilenwaald, come with me!"

"Where are you going?" Edmund asked.

"To conduct business with King Lune."

-oOo-

In the library, Peter paced back and forth. Blilenwaald was on a high stool, writing on a desk. In front of him was a piece of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a feather pen. He had just done writing the salutations—greeting King Lune, wishing everything was well with him. The dwarf was ready for the next part of the letter. He dipped his pen. Peter cleared his throat.

"I believe, O, Great Lune, that my sister Queen Susan is with child…"

"_W—with child_, Majesty?"

"Yes, Blilenwaald—with child." The dwarf, after a few moments' hesitation, wrote it down.

"But I shall not conclude just yet. I want to be sure. Send me your best midwife—at all costs—on your fastest horse. I shall wait two days at the most. No less." Blilenwaald did as he was told and wrote it down.

"I shall await your decision. In the Name of the Great Lion, most sincerely yours, High King Peter the Magnificent of Narnia, Lord of Cair Paravel, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion."

Taking the document from Blilenwaald, Peter signed it, rolled it up, sealed it with his signet, and gave it to Blilenwaald, giving instructions for the messenger.

-oOo-

The answer came within four-and-twenty hours. King Lune said that he would be most happy to oblige him and Queen Susan, and that the midwife was on her way with two envoys and two bodyguards—a total of four escorting her to Narnia. In addition, King Lune stated that the midwife may stay for as long as it was needed—no matter how long it took to help the queen with her pregnancy. Peter could not help but smile, but Susan dreaded it. It was their first child, and like any mother, she was both excited and scared, not knowing what to expect.

-oOo-

The midwife arrived a day later and sought audience with the Narnian queen. Reluctant at first, Susan finally granted her audience. Together, they walked the hanging gardens of Cair Paravel as they talked.

"If I may inquire, Your Majesty," the woman asked, "How long has it been since your menses have ceased?"

Susan was shocked. She had not taken that into consideration. And now that she remembered, she felt sick again. She _was_ with child.

"It has been nearly two moons since. Two moons and two weeks to be exact."

"Two moons… Then, M'Lady," the woman said thinking, "I believe you are with child, ten weeks." She fainted, the servants rushing to her aid.

-oOo-

Over the next few weeks and months, Susan endured her pregnancy with great fortitude—although it was a bit trying at times, especially for those around her in the castle. The next few weeks and months were the most demanding the servants of the Cair had ever had. Susan, although having the reputation of being "the Gentle Queen" demanded and threatened all throughout her pregnancy. Even Peter was driven up the walls. But he was gentle with her most of the time. She would have her cravings fulfilled or she would order a servant hanged or beheaded. Her demands drove Peter mad. Her demands drove the servants mad. But they had to comply. Of course, she did not carry out any of it. The midwife was there for her, every day of her pregnancy, guiding her, helping her. That was one of the up sides of Susan's pregnancy.

Another up side was the growing anticipation as the days drew nearer for her to give birth. Every day, she watched her stomach grow. She would stroke it and hum to the child within her. She was fascinated, amazed by the life growing inside her—something made out of so much love.

"When did this happen?" Lucy asked her, one day.

"What do you mean, Luce?"

"I meant…how did…?"

Comprehending, Susan smiled. "I think it was after the last time we fu—after we made love. Yes, that was it. Peter had just come home from another raid. I was scared for him, I missed him so much that I kissed him passionately as soon as he entered the Hall. Remember we excused ourselves early that night, during the celebration?"

Lucy nodded.

"We made love passionately that night. Who'd have thought this would be the aftermath of it all?"

Lucy could extract no more from her. She spent the rest of the time dreaming and daydreaming. The passionate night, her love for Peter, his love for her… Their future children…

-oOo-

"This way, Majesty!" the dwarf and the faun said, in chorus, running ahead of the High King. Mr. Tumnus pushed open the doors and he, Peter, and Blilenwaald rushed in. Mr. and Mrs. Beaver met them.

"Any minute now, Sire," Mr. Beaver said, panting.

"She'll be a lovely child, Majesty," Mrs. Beaver said, sure of her proclamation.

"Any minute now," Edmund whispered to himself, pacing the room, nervous and excited. Everyone was frantic. Servants were rushing helter-skelter, Lucy and the midwife were barking orders… Everyone was in a frenzy. It was all a blur. Suddenly, a baby's cries filled the chill winter air. And so it was that on the very last day of winter, at the first crack of dawn, Drusilla Pevensie was born. Princess. Daughter. The first fruit of their union. The first fruit of their love.


End file.
